The Power Outlet


The power outlets line the walls of one of the old brick frat houses on Rugby road. Twin big eyes and an open mouth, they face the same direction, but stand far apart. They are waiting for the lava lamps. The stereo. The phone chargers. The cords. With their long, smooth, plastic covering that should just glide in, but they never do. Instead, they push, surging their energy inside. Fumbling in the dark. Bumbling their way in. Forcefully. Their power drowns out any voice that could be heard. Only an impression of what could have been said remains.


5 thoughts on “The Power Outlet

  1. Wow! Short, simple, well-written AND appropriate w/article… Reading the article made me kind of sick at my stomach, but it’s an important article to read (of course); good knowledge to have and share … so thank you!

  2. It’s an important article, it had to be written. I went to college in the ’90s & the “campus was very small (all of two buildings on one block in downtown Brooklyn) but the idea that someone could force himself on you at a party or in the rec room wasn’t so far fetched…except nobody warned us about it. College “orientation” consisted of admonishments against drinking (we were told we’d reflect poorly on the college if we drank & behaved badly while drunk), lectures about not hanging out in the rec room all day (in other words, we were supposed to be going to class), and a speech about how the female students should “dress like ladies” (with blouses buttoned right up to the collarbone and no whorish makeup) but no one mentioned a woman’s right to say no or a man’s responsibility to exercise self-control.

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